


Knowing what we Know, Knowing what we don’t know

by thedistortion



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: ADHD!Michael Shelley, Autistic!Michael Shelley, Canon Non-Binary Character, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Gen, Implied Child Abuse, Neurodivergent Character written by a Neurodivergent Author, Non-Binary Character Written by a Non-Binary Author, OCD!Michael Shelley, i dont like gertrude and it shows, michael stims a bit, use of it/it’s pronouns, welcome to michael shelley’s really bad not good day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:48:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24319861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedistortion/pseuds/thedistortion
Summary: Michael Shelley and his very bad no good day.a character study with some personal headcannons for michael, i hope you enjoy it!
Comments: 2
Kudos: 33





	Knowing what we Know, Knowing what we don’t know

**Author's Note:**

> just a really quick secondary warning that its heavily implied Michael suffered child abuse in this, so if that might upset you or trigger anything please please don’t read this, its not physical abuse but it is emotional and manipulative ect abuse and i’d hate for someone to be hurt by my work

Michael Shelly is not a smart man, not in the sense that matters, not now at least. One would think after years of hearing lies living with people manipulating the truth, he’d be an expert at being able to tell when someones trying to manipulate him, but in truth he’s just like any other person. It’s no wonder he believes every word Gertrude tells him, carefully practiced lies from an old woman perfectly acting, too kind to Michael, kindness he hasn't had in a very very long time, and earned the trust he had given only one person before her. 

When she asks him to join her on a trip he jumps at the opportunity. He's never been abroad before, not in the way most people have, for recreation and enjoyment, the people who were meant to care would find a reason for him not to go, lies he could see straight through. This felt genuine, of course he agreed to go. Russia might not be someone's first choice for a holiday, or a trip he supposes, but he doesn’t mind, even when on a rickety old boat, with a man whose name he cannot quite place his finger on. The air around him grows colder, more intense and painful than that of the winter air in the yorkshire hills and fields in winter, the wind there would be tropical compared to the chilling pain he feels in his bones, and yet all he cares for is frail little Gertrude, wrapped in a North Face Fleece, as if immune to the icy winds of the russian sea. 

And then they land at the shores of an island too warm for its location, too impossible to be, but yet it does. Michael welcomes the warmth, shrugs off his coat and ties it around his waist as he and Gertrude walk on an impossible island, in the middle of no-where. Beautiful tropical leaves and plants cover the entirety of its impossible layout. Michael turns his head and makes a joke, he can't remember what it was anymore, something to do with this feeling like a oasis in the freezing seas, Gertrude doesn’t laugh, Michael isn’t even sure she even heard him speak, making a mental note to bring it up later with the archivist, maybe she needs a hearing aid more than she lets on. 

It feels like Days before they reach their destination though when Michael checks the watch on his wrist it’d only been an hour, and their destination? A single Yellow door. standing solitary in the middle of an island, that was already confusing as it was. They both regard the door for a while, Michael; in fear and confusion And Gertrude, in anger and disgust. She turns to him after a while, speaks for the first time since they boarded the boat that brought them here. 

“It’s simple”, she says, voice delicately gentle, “I need you to save the world for me Michael”

“Me? I don't quite understand” he replies, there's nothing in Gertrudes voice that would cause him to believe she’s lying to him, it’s genuine. 

“I need you to go through this door for me Michael, for the world, you can do that can’t you?” the same gentle tone in her voice, its slightly harsher, Michael can tell, but doesn’t say anything, just silently agrees with the slight nod of his head, blonde locks not quite reaching his shoulders bouncing as he does. He’s never been good in conversations, people put down things he can’t pick up on, He can act, act like he understands how someone should react to a situation, how to manipulate the tone of his voice to show gratitude or sympathy, but he’ll never be good at it naturally, Acting is second nature to him, as natural as his footsteps being light near silent no matter what he wears on his feet. 

Gertrude, after fiddling around in her bag looking for something, gestures for him to hold his hands out. He complies, he knows what could happen if he doesn’t, even if he trusts Gertrude to not harm him, the learned behaviour is still present. Placed in his hands are two objects, A rolled up piece of paper, thick and heavy, sealed with a ribbon patterned in spirals and geometric shapes and a wax seal that looks like a compass, and a Heavy weight, he can't tell what it’s made of, or how she even managed to carry it without appearing weighed down, but it’s in his hand now, so he supposed it doesn’t matter much where or how Gertrude brought it along. 

“One of those is a map with instructions, You need to follow those perfectly, no skipping steps or finding shortcuts.” She says, gesturing to the Rolled and bound paper his hands. “ The other is a weight, Only use it when instructed on the paper.” she continues, her tone has changed, but Michael cant tell what it changed to, it’s one he’s not heard before. He’s grateful it’s all written down, not needing to remember anything more than those two things is a relief to him, words become tangled and messed up if he’s given more than a few instructions without them being written down, he doubts Gertrude knows this, but he’s thankful anyways. 

His hand is on the knob of the door, the metal of the knob isn't cold like he expects it to be, but warm, it reminds him of his childhood, being sat on the floor in an assembly hall as firefighters from the nearby fire department teach them about fire safety. He doesn’t know why he remembers it now, he barely remembers anything past, Ryan, and everything around it is fuzzy too, like someone sat on his brain during all of it, giving it pins and needles. 

He twists the knob and before he registers it he’s in a twisting corridor, carpet that reminds him of a bowling alley, but manky and too bright runs along the floors, the wallpaper is bright and never the same colour when he looks back at it, various mirrors and pictures line the walls, all showing the hallway he’s standing in, He barely has time to turn back when he sees Gertrude slamming the door behind him, and he looks forward into the hallway before him, he contemplates turning back, going home when he realises there is no door, just an infinite span of corridor, so he opens his map, wrapping the ribbon around his wrist, and quickly punching a small hole through the wax seal and attaching it to the necklace around his neck and sets one foot in front of the other, on a journey he thinks may be pointless. 

It feels as though its been hours or maybe days, he can't tell, his watch stopped working after an hour and he did as he was instructed, breaking mirrors and opening doors, always choosing the path he was told to. He doesn’t remember when he took his coat off around his waist and placed it down somewhere, but he misses the weight it gave him on his shoulders, a comforting pressure he liked to have on him at all times, so he placed the wax seal in his mouth and used it to keep him busy, to keep his nerves calm and his mind focused on his task, occasionally pushing it through the gap in the front of his teeth, a constant rhythm was a huge comfort in these confusing halls that twisted and turned and hurt his head to think about. 

He can’t tell how long its been since he reached what Gertrude wrote down he would, not that it made much sense, he’d run out of instructions to follow when he felt something worse than any pain he’d ever felt before, as though his body was being thrown and jerked around in 100 different directions at once, spiralling and curling in on itself, his bones appearing to bend and snap and reform in seconds within each other, his head felt like it was being torn into ringlets and ribbons, He cried, screamed and wailed and thrashed as if trying to run from something that wasn't real and then it stopped the second it had started. 

Michael wasn't Michael anymore, and the Spiral had become more than just a door, both hated the feeling, of not being oneself and both despised the headache and pounding in Michaels head, It wailed but its voice was distorted and corrupted, as though it was being filtered through a speaker under the water, yet echoed and stuttered and came from multiple places at once. 

It collected Itself, Michael, or a distortion of what he once was, had changed, its reflection from a nearby mirror told it that much. It’s hair had grown from the short bob to long ringlets and fraying ends and never ending curls that didn’t obey any law of physics, long strands spouted from its roots, separate from the rest of it’s hair, they felt like streamers if those could also feel like hair, and they changed colour and shifted patterns from zebra print to something akin to the carpets of the halls, all bright neon colours of that of a fucked up rainbow, its eyes were full of spirals and pools of colours that the human eye could never hope to comprehend. It’s hands were the biggest change, once soft and covered in scars blistered they were now long, impossibly long, and ended sharp as knives. Along its skin was a constant shifting and moving, spirals of all colours that changed position and shape and size, barely visible but still present. 

What was left of Michael Shelley fought against it, fought against the feeling of being more than just himself, fought the urge to kill and contain and hunt, to trap innocents in its twisting never ending corridors. The Spiral was overpowering yes, but he still retained himself. It started out small, trapping those who had done wrong, wrong to Michael Shelley at least, Killers and Rapists, people who wouldn't be missed if they went missing. The Spiral wasn’t amused, it was angered by Michaels need to hold onto who he was, He was not a person anymore no matter what He believed, They were something new entirely, and they were hungry for more.

**Author's Note:**

> secondary chapter is probably coming soon im going to throw it forward in time to when abouts tma actually takes place in with jon, michael is a lot more annoying there and i love it 
> 
> you can also,, find my michael design here: https://distortedspirals.tumblr.com/post/618586290913509377/so-fuckhands-mcmike-owns-me


End file.
